Tsuna, departed
by yesxsamxixam
Summary: It was not a problem for him to leave. WARNING: NOT KHR RETOLD so don't read it if that's what you're looking for. If you're out there, Tsuna, I love you!


**NOTE**

**I rearranged everything. It was necessary. **

**I don't own KHR. **

* * *

He was standing outside. The air was cold, cold and biting, and he wanted to put on another sweater.

But he had been the Vongola Tenth, hadn't he? He could take this.

Tsuna Sawada was leaned up against the building in the semi-darkness, his eyes indistinguishable from the shadows cast by clouds moving across the moon. In one pocket he was holding the ring, the only confirmation that would be left of his existence if he was suddenly murdered, and in the other he grasped the phone. It was thin and definitely expensive looking and he knew his landlord really disliked gadgetry like that. In fact, he thought (nervously) that he saw her eyeing it the other day with disgust on her face. But it had been a gift from Goukudera, an unintentional parting gift. This was one thing he would not give up yet.

It also had perfect reception, again courtesy of Goukudera, which was why Xanxus had no excuses. How many rings does it take to answer your phone? At least now Xanxus had a phone. An actual, personal phone that no one was tapping, particularly his guardians.

Correction: Xanxus' guardians.

Tsuna felt like the wind had picked up at just that moment to hit him in the face.

Three years. He hadn't seen them, he hadn't heard their voices for three years...He was a wimp and an idiot and his time with the Vongola had never dispelled the truth. But Tsuna (rather emptily, now) remembered what it was like to be the Tenth Boss of Vongola. He remembered the summery summers of Japan and the sweltering heat and how beautiful the water was on Dino's island resort and how everyone around him fought gloriously like they were stars in an action movie...but the whole thing was too much of a lucky coincidence to have lasted long anyways.

Tsuna held the phone in front of him, watching the way it caught the light, like a piece of silver art. And who was he, dressed in mittens, in some semi-suburban neighborhood without any income, any friends? He practically saw his landlord thinking that at him every day. It was in the slight careless glance behind her dark eyelashes; _what kind of stupid loner loser are you? _

The kind who walks away from that beautiful beachy water, of course, voluntarily. For what? For whom?

Tsuna was a perfectly rational thinker, so he could say it was because of Mukuro. _You have to believe me, I saw Mukuro in this wierd dream and he was the king of an empire that rivalled Wal-Mart..._He didn't really hate Mukuro, though. He didn't hate anyone. He had spent many years with the new Vongola family and they were perfectly normal teenagers, all likeable enough, which made him feel even more like a freak with every passing day.

He could also say it was for Justice. Freedom, Liberty, Beauty and the Rational Order, but those things were too abstract to have any bearing on him at the moment, and they didn't have any kick behind them.

The real reason he had decided that this must be the year in which he finally 'died' was because of three people, none of which he would not side with in an argument. The first was his six-year-old self, who thought himself the next Superman and read too many detective novels. The second was his father, whom he still had a hard time thinking about, who was at this very moment probably doing something unpleasant for the sake of his family; since Tsuna's 'death' family meant wife. Iemetsu had been following a similar lifestyle since forever, like Sisyphus. Only a little bit richer. And supported by a wife who had no idea about anything. Which meant she still romanticized him unconditionally.

The third was Haru Miura, the most gloomy and scary person he had ever met in his life. Because she didn't deserve to die.

* * *

In the morning I make a healthy breakfast, eggs and a chocolate smoothie with oatmeal and some fruit juice. This is what I have been eating for several years, and nothing has really changed in the house (which is a little disappointing), except of course the renter.

There he comes now. He always gets up late. He doesn't know how to cook, either, so I have made some good extra money off of the food portion of our contract. It took me some weeks to coerce him into signing it; I have the feeling that were I not here to shove this food under his face he would forget to eat entirely. This is probably why he is so thin, so slight. He looks like he could drift away with the wind. If I were his mother I would never have allowed him to leave home.

I do not pay much attention to him in the mornings because i have to get to class. We never really say much to each other, actually, which is the way I like it. I despise chatty people. When I met my renter for the first time, it was this gloomy aura that sealed the deal. I needed a gloomy, silent person to live with me, as I am exactly this sort of person myself. I am proud to say that we get along the way we do. I have never asked my renter where he goes during the day, though he looks to be around my age, and should rightfully be in school. As long as it isn't drugs or something that would cause problems for me, I'm fine. I have never seen any of his friends visit, and I've never asked about his personal life or his family or anything like that. He is even better-he has not asked me anything at all, and his most expressive comment is probably a faint smile.

Today i have a tutorial late at school so I have to stay on campus until eight, maybe eight thirty. I also promised my study partner that we would get food together. Thus I have left some microwaveable pasta in the fridge for the renter. I check my bag for my laptop and pens. As I leave I see him looking at me with some curiosity, but it is a mostly dead sort of look that betrays the fact that he came home at around 1 AM last night. I should speak to him about being quieter on the stairs, but not now.

I get on the subway. There are ads as always, and they are kind of amusing. There is some sort of music concert going on next week, and some shop is opening up further downtown. I look at the picture of the cupcake, it looks delicious. There are some girls chatting to my left, they are wearing impressive leather boots.

"I heard that a few of the members really came this time."

"You can't believe everything they say, you know. I don't believe it's true."

"Well it could be true."

"What are you going to do, start carrying around a gun or something?"

"No! No way! Things like this couldn't happen in a city like this. It's just publicity."

There is a pause, and I cherish the quiet. The conductor's voice comes on to announce the next stop. There is a hiss as the doors slide open. Noise leaks in again, blending with the girls' voices.

"You know, the reason why they came here is..."

"Oh! You mean the leader?"

"The leader is dead. Isn't that why there's such a dispute going on? He's been dead for years."

"No, he's alive! That's why..."

"What? That's ridiculous. In a city like this, so far north of everything..."

"I bet they kicked him out."

There is a comfortable silence, only punctuated with the sound of chewing gum.

"Why would they have done that?"

"I still don't believe any of it."

Eventually my stop comes too and I am happy. I walk lightly to the main building where my lecture is. I feel as if the sky is descending slowly on my head and the world is slowing down. But I frequently feel this way. I am glad that soon my degree will be done. And I like walking through these massive halls, anonymous.

I get home late, and the dark is pleasant. I go upstairs. The renter is not home yet. I unlock my room and turn off the lights. Soon I am sleeping.

In the middle of the night I hear the scuffling from the kitchen.

I know it is the renter.

Why is he always coming home at this ungodly hour? Why does he have to scuffle around for so long before sleeping?

XXX

I used to just ignore everything. I went to school since Dad had always said that would be good for me but it was a bit of a waste because my heart wasn't in it. Of course I spent most of the time maintaining Dad's hedge funds and the website and putting together the pieces of code that he had been working on before his death. I don't remember much about the classes. I was half asleep most of the time anyway. Now I regret not paying more attention as that would have given me some background on how to run this business of his.

Sometimes I am surprised that a person like my Dad believed in this shoddy affair. He was a rigidly held person, so to be so invested in these...Italians. He didn't even speak Italian. Was Mother Italian, perhaps?

In any case I am a bit concerned about this company he has been investing in. I think that it was the crash of their stocks that gave him such a bad heart attack. It has been recovering some, but nowhere near where it needs to be. This is why he was stupid. But he was not too often stupid so I have forgiven him.

It would have been a waste to scrap all of his investments, so now my part-time job is to dust them over. I have started to take my studies more seriously since his death. He would have liked that. The degree is nothing but lectures which is just the way I like it. I am gaining some extra income with the fees of the renter. The debt will be paid off within two months of graduation and by then I will have a good stable well paying job. This papa would have liked. But it would not be enough for him. He was so against the idea of me going to major in engineering.

XXX

I lie awake listening to the light rattle from the kitchen. I had insomnia in the year when papa died and it's never really gone away. Instead I'm usually stuck here doing nothing, with only the space of my thoughts filling my skull as one big headache. I see my professor of neuroscience, who is laughing laughing all the time; I see my study partner writing down the solution to the problem set; I see papa. I can't stop seeing his face, no matter how much I try to avoid it.

When I came home, there was blood on the towel that hangs on the oven we share in the kitchen. It was a lot of blood. _There was a lot of blood-_

My renter told me it was a nose bleed. It was not the first time that he had gotten injured while cooking. I suppose I've gotten used to these sorts of strangenesses about him.

He is very clumsy. Just the opposite of papa. But the renter and papa are exactly the same.

XXX

Somewhere in November I am walking home, and it is very windy outside and rather chilly. The buildings along the street are distant lifeforms. When papa was home, there was a faint yellow glow in our window as well, the frail sort that I have never paid much attention to before.

For some reason, even as I am thinking this, the lights turn on from the kitchen of my apartment.

Is that the renter? He's not usually here at this time...

When I come upstairs, the first thing I hear is voices. _Several _voices. From behind my own door. I press my ears to the wood and catch a musical accent. That doesn't sound like my renter at all. Quietly, I press the key into the lock, but even as I do this I hear a strange flapping sound.

My renter is sitting there, the window is wide open, and there is a strange configuration of plates and candles around the kitchen table. He is alone.

"Hello," I say pleasantly enough, after a pause.

He looks slightly surprised, slightly worried. "Hey." His hair, which is wispy brown, blows in the harsh wind.

"I didn't know you were coming back for lunch," I say, moving to shut the window. It is very cold, so I do not know why he would have opened it. My eyes light on the plates, holding half-finished rolls of bread and different sauces. He has prepared his own lunch, for once. I walk closer to him, and he looks nervously at me—but then, he is always distracted, depressed and over polite.

"You look tense," I say, trying to gauge his reaction. His eyes are the colour of melting chocolate.

"Ah," he replies, after a silence.

I cannot say anything to that, but look at the candles on the table. They have been burning for a while. I realize I do not know enough about what exactly the renter does on a normal basis, what he is working on, and what his friends are like. I will not ask him these sorts of useless private questions, of course. He would probably not tell me either. For some reason I still stand there for a time.

"Is something the matter?"

I moved my mouth slightly inwards. "No, no."

He stares at me and I stare back. I realize that he is a bit taller and more serious-looking than I have become accustomed to thinking. And his hair is so...

I go through the kitchen into the passageway where our rooms are. I unlock mine, which is clean and empty as usual. For some reason I have an uneasy feeling and turn back to where the renter is cleaning up his lunch. He looks startled and a little apprehensive. I can see his bathroom from the corner of my eye. The door is open, and it's got the black shower curtain and plain medicine cabinet inside. It used to be my dad's bathroom.

I walk over, ignoring the renter's stare, and examine the sink. There is a strange alcoholic smell in the air. A smudge of red against the sink catches my eye.

"Is this greasy thing lipstick? " I ask.

Of course his head rotates towards me when I say it. His cheeks get strangely red. "Um.."

"Did you have guests?" I ask.

He does not respond the way I expect. His eyebrows scrunch slightly and he looks not so much embarrassed as worried.

I say nothing, looking at the smudge. It is not blood again, is it?

He hurries forward, grabs a piece of tissue, and wipes it off before I can look closer. We are stuck staring at each other apprehensively.

XXX

The next incident that catches my interest comes a few weeks after. By that time the city was very damp and gloomy, waiting for snow. The streets are half as full. As I walk home I happen to meet my physics professor, with a bag of hardwood. I guess he lives here close to the university as well. We exchange greetings.

"You shouldn't be walking around this late," he says, looking concerned.

"Why is that?"

"Well...there's been a few shootings in the area lately," he says. "Just get yourself home quickly."

I have heard of the shootings but there are always such incidents. Guns must be awfully easy to smuggle past the law. Anyone who would carry around one of those and shoot innocent people like my physics professor, wrapped up in his coat, is probably an extreme oddball...

I keep up my leisurely stroll, stopping to buy some grape flavored chewing candy, which is excellent. As I round the block I am surprised to see that my renter is standing there, his breath making slight clouds of fog against the night air. I approach him from behind.

"Hello."

He looks flustered and relieved to see me. I look at him curiously.

"It's pretty cold," I say. "Are you waiting for someone?"

"No, no," he says, flapping his arms about in a strange manner. "I was just...having a breath of air...it's pretty late, did something happen?"

I stop chewing. "No."

"Well," he says quickly, "Let's have dinner, then."

"The steak will take a while," I say.

He tells me he'll be taking the laundry downstairs anyways. He should have done that before he went off to have a walk or stand stupidly at the corner of the street or whatever it is he was doing. Now the laundry room will be packed and he'll have to wait in line.

I go up to the kitchen, slicing carrots.

The phone beeps. It's his phone. He must have left it on the table. I look at the display: INCOMING XANXUS. I ignore it and start to heat up the pot, but it keeps ringing, and the mechanical sound of bells is annoying. I flip open the phone. There ought to be some sort of way to turn off the ringing but all the buttons are written in some foreign language. I press the one that looks like a phone, disgruntled, and say, "Hello?"

There's a short pause.

"Who are you?" It's an aggressive and almost threatening male voice.

"Mr. Sawada is downstairs getting his laundry," I say. "I'm the landlord—I happened to pick the phone up. Could you call back?"

The voice is disgruntled and a little incredulous. "The landlord?"

"Yes, is there a problem?" I put the phone against my shoulder as I rummage in the fridge.

"You're his landlord, eh? ...A girl?"

"Hm," I say impartially.

There is a spot of quiet.

"I see," His voice is rough and still has a hint of surprise, mixed with something distasteful. "I'll call back."

I hang up.

When the renter comes upstairs I tell him that there was a caller. He checks his phone, looking very worried now. "Laundry," he mutters. "Forgot something. I'll be back." He shuts the door behind him and I hear him go downstairs.

This caller was a rude person. Perhaps this Xanxus has something to do with why the renter is running around all the time. This is just like papa with his friends, he was so confident all the time that he could control them.

The renter is from out of town, I know. This is part of why he has no friends. He has some sort of connection to the company that my father invested in. He is still young, however, and he desperately looks it.

He must be stuck in the laundry line again or something. I've left out a bowl of rice, with a little lid to keep it warm. The company failed my father. It is a bad investment and it gave him a heart attack. It will doubtless fail the renter too.


End file.
